Snapshots
by Rachel500
Summary: Series of short stories: snapshots from the Hawke family album. Ch4, The Hawke Brothers is now posted.
1. Introduction

Airwolf is somebody else's, probably Universal's or Bellisarius', and I freely admit that whoever's it is, I'm borrowing their show and they retain all rights, etc.

**Updated 24th January 2009:** Next ficlet 'The Hawke Brothers' is posted; it takes place soon after the events of 'And They All Lived'. I know I've been promising this one for a while on my profile; I hope you like it. :-)

**Author's note:** So, I've been trying to think for a while how I can fit in writing Airwolf along with my other writing commitments and finally decided on this 'Snapshots'. This will be a series of short stories which pick up scenes from the Hawke family past and future within the universe I created in my other stories in the Lost Season series and Finding Family series. I consider this is a kind of companion to my previous stories. It would probably help if you have read my stories before but if not there is a recap here and I will state ahead of each short story any recommendations for reading prior stories.

I don't know how often I will update but I hope you enjoy the stories!

**Introduction:**

This is an epilogue to the Lost Season Series (bridging the 3rd and 4th Season of Airwolf)_: Single Parent Hawke, The Jade Wolf, The Truth About Caitlin, Old Friends New Enemies, Hawke's Wolf, Father Figures, Personal Business, Hidden Truths, Homecomings, The Ex Factor, A Question of Loyalty, You Are Cordially Invited, The Odd Couple, Spirit of the Wolf, Ghosts, A High Price to Pay, Prime Suspect, Traces in the Mist, Duplicity I & II, A Child Friendly Date, Reality Check, The Other Blackjack and Closure._

And the Finding Family Series: _Resurrection, Unexpected Backup, Torn in Two, Best Laid Plans, Adversaries, The Infamous Baby Test, Sibling Rivalry, New Beginnings, Sacrifices, Promises, Family Business I & II, And They All Lived._

Sequel:_ Angel Wolf._

If you haven't read either series, don't worry; here's a brief recap or you too can skip straight ahead…

**Recap:**

During the period between season 3 and 4, Hawke found Half-Pint's mother and relinquished his custody to her. She confirmed that Saint John was not the father of Le. Hawke realised how close he had grown to Caitlin and when she was shot tried to cut her out of his life but finally realised she was too important. They began a relationship and eventually married much to the delight of Dominic. In the meantime, Michael had discovered he was a father to Angelina and had rescued her from Russia. Dom was later kidnapped by the Mafia hit man who had killed Hawke's grandfather - and began to wonder if Hawke's parents were actually dead or in witness protection but as Caitlin found herself pregnant he decided to drop the search. Meanwhile, a government Intelligence Oversight Committee determined that the FIRM was to be amalgamated with another agency called the Company. Michael felt freed by the decision and told Hawke of his plan to build a successor to Airwolf and look after the embryonic artificial intelligence within the original ship. He reassured the pilot he still intended to honour their deal.

Caitlin was briefly kidnapped by John Bradford Horn but rescued by Hawke while Marella and Michael grew closer after she saved his life. But as Caitlin settled into her new job with Michael and Jo returned to assist at Santini Air, Dom was killed in a helicopter explosion just as they discovered details of where Saint John was. Jo, Mike and Locke all rescued Saint John who helped Caitlin and Hawke escape to a clinic in Switzerland where Hawke recovered. When they returned to the US, Michael and Hawke were able to stop Dom's killer from hurting Caitlin. The Hawke's celebrated the birth of their first child, Dominic Alan Hawke - Nicky.

Hawke, having been reunited with his brother Saint John, began to come to terms with the long absence of the other man in his life. But various jealousies and emotions ran high as the old Airwolf team were handed control of a mission to recover Charles Moffett from the Russians and where Hawke had a final showdown with his old nemesis. During the mission his brother raised the possibility that the Hawkes' parents, long considered dead in a boating accident when Hawke was twelve, might be still alive and in witness protection after going up against a Mafia family, the Cordelli's. The Hawkes determined to find out the truth and decide to ask their friends for help.

Both Airwolf teams support the brothers but progress was slow and the team came under attack from an unknown enemy. Michael proposed to Marella much to Hawke and Caitlin's joy but soon after there is an attack on the cabin, led by the Hawkes' old foe, Angelica Horn. Horn revealed the mysterious boss is a man called Matt Sterling before her death but they have no proof other than her word.

Jo finally revealed how she feels about Saint John as Michael and Locke reported that their respective Airwolf projects were being combined and moved into a new division under the Department of Defence. Jo and Saint John bowed out opting to pursue their new relationship and work at Santini Air; Locke remained with the Company while Mike agreed to remain as an Airwolf pilot flying with Hawke and Caitlin under Michael and Marella's management.

Soon after, an old associate of Hawke's tracked down Hawke's sister, Sarah and her son, Chris, and brought them home. Unfortunately, Locke was brainwashed and fatally shot. Before he dies he reveals the mastermind was never Sterling but Giovanni Cordelli. The search for their parents is put on hold when Michael and Marella wed but back home, Larry Mason drew out Seb, the youngest Hawke who finally led Hawke and Saint John to an emotional reunion with their parents, Alan and Jane. Unfortunately, the joy was short-lived as Caitlin was horrifically injured in a helicopter attack, losing the second baby she and Hawke longed for and sustaining a severe head injury. When Caitlin was declared brain dead, Hawke embarked on a revenge mission against Giovanni Cordelli in the original Airwolf.

A ghostly Dom intervened and managed to convince Caitlin to fight for her life as he stayed with Hawke and helped him get Cordelli. Caitlin miraculously woke up and Hawke said another tearful farewell to the man who was a father to him for so many years. A final attempt by the real Matt Sterling to take Airwolf is foiled and a year later, Hawke celebrates his life: another child with Caitlin, good friends and the blessing of the family he had lost.

In the future, as the tenth anniversary of Dom's death approaches, Michael's daughter is kidnapped, and Hawke - and Airwolf - are recalled into service to rescue her.


	2. Music

**Author's Note:** This story takes place just after the main events of And They All Lived. Focuses on Hawke's relationship with his newly returned mother.

**Music**

She had seen him play music as a child. He had been good at the piano, enjoyed the violin and guitar but he had excelled at the cello. He had been a natural. The bow had caressed the strings and produced music from the moment he had tried it. Jane Hawke had been a concert pianist before her marriage and as Stringfellow's mother her heart leaped at how good he was; at his talent. She had been so sure that would be his destiny; a professional musician with adoring fans who would line up to hear him play – and she would be at the head of the queue.

A mother's ambition knew no bounds but she was a musician and she had always known how good he was. Every note in tune; in tempo; in harmony with the piece. She had listened to him for hours and somehow every memory of her second son seemed tied to music. In the years when she believed him dead, she had barely played herself. It reminded her too much of him. Of the hours spent instructing him; of the moments spent hearing him play with his head bowed over his instrument; his startling blue eyes closed in concentration.

She had secured a good teacher – the best teacher – for him the year Elijah Hawke had died. He had idolised his grandfather. Somehow their love for art had bridged the generation gap. Elijah had doted on Stringfellow. He had taught him how to identify a Picasso; how to tell a fake. And he had encouraged String in his music; it had been Elijah who had bought the Stradivarius. Alan had protested; it was too much, too expensive for a small boy.

Jane remembered her father-in-law's reply; _'He'll grow into it.' _

It hadn't surprised her that Elijah had left her son the cabin. Elijah had truly known Stringfellow; the kind heart and sensitive soul of the artist so evident in the child. Alan had worried about his son's sensitivity; life was hard and their son would feel every small bruising knock. Jane had also known the worry had been edged with anxiety over Stringfellow's eventual sexuality. Back then it had been less permissible to be homosexual, and their generation had its prejudices, but Jane hadn't cared. He was her son; if he had been gay then she would have still loved him, and she knew Alan would have too despite his worries.

Yet she couldn't deny Alan was pleased that String was married with a family; that his son was a highly decorated army pilot; that he had seemingly put away his music and embraced his other talent; flying. Alan would claim there was an artistry there too; he had already proudly boasted of String's flight skills – the natural way String inhabited the air. He had talked of String's combat skills in the dog fight. His son was a man.

Jane could barely see anything of the child in the man before her. She had lost so much time, Jane mused. Years of her son's life that she had never known about – would never know about in the way a mother should. The mink brown hair had the smallest sprinkling of grey; the blue eyes were guarded and wary; the still boyish face was lined and scarred. She wondered how much of what she saw was because he had believed for so long that his parents had died.

Jane shivered and pulled the wrap she had thought to grab closer around her shoulders. The air was cold up at the cabin; crisp and sharp. Her skin almost stung with it. It was due penance for their mistakes, Jane thought her mind slipping back to where it all began…

The plan had been simple; take a boat out ahead of a storm; rendezvous with the FBI and live safely ever after following Alan's capture of his father's killer. Only it had all gone wrong. The storm had arrived early and the boys had been swept overboard. They had been told the boys had drowned little realising their sons had survived; that the boys had been told it was their parents who had drowned.

Jane would swear she had almost died that day herself; if it hadn't been for the child within her…the grief had been overwhelming, suffocating. There had been days she could hardly stand it. To lose Saint John and Stringfellow – her boys. The pain had been too much. The children she had borne after; Sarah and Seb – she loved them and they had helped fill the dark empty spaces but never completely.

But they were all reunited, a family again and Jane was determined to bridge the chasm of time. Saint John had been so easy; so open in comparison to his brother. He hated the time they had lost but he had accepted them back into his life with an acceptance that humbled Jane.

Stringfellow had not done the same.

Alan claimed it was because of recent events. String had almost lost his wife and although Caitlin had made a recovery, it was clear it had rocked String. His friend Michael had apparently told Alan that String had suffered loss after loss in his life and he always retreated when there had been another close call, when he had almost lost someone else he loved. Yet Jane didn't believe that String kept them at arm's length because of that alone.

She was his mother and whatever time had passed, she knew her son. She might not be able to glimpse the vulnerability that had once played so openly on his face but she knew it was there. He was scared; scared to let them back in where they could hurt him again; scared to trust them again – not just with his love but that of the family he had built – Caitlin and their son. It was going to take time to win back his trust.

Jane craved it; wanted it; needed it. She knew she would never feel back home until she had it. He was trying. He had invited them for dinner – the whole tribe including his newly found younger siblings. It had been a meal of laughter and anecdotes; of gentle banter and recollections. Yet Stringfellow had deflected every attempt to shift the conversation to any intimacy about himself; had excused himself after dinner. She had watched him grab the cello and head out of the cabin. They'd all left him alone trying to give him the space he seemed to want so badly but when she had heard the first strains of music, Jane had followed.

He had grown into the cello, Jane realised as she watched him on the dock from her place in the shadows on the cabin's porch. It suited him. Like any musical instrument when it fitted, it seemed like an extension of him.

The song was haunting; a melody she had never heard. It was beautiful; the emotion of it bringing tears to her eyes. It flowed from him; through his fingers as he pressed them into the strings, down his arm as he drew back the bow. She watched her son play music to the passing eagles. It wasn't the life she had imagined for him.

The music stopped and Jane waited.

He gazed up at the circling birds for a moment before he looked sharply over; his eyes pinned her suddenly without warning and she wondered at how he had known she was there.

A few moments later he was climbing the steps of the porch; Jane moved to greet him, and to stop him from going inside.

'I heard you playing and wanted to listen.' Jane felt compelled to justify her presence. 'You play wonderfully.' Her voice was filled with maternal pride.

Hawke ducked his head at the praise. 'The end section still needs work.'

'You composed it?' Jane was surprised but pleased.

He nodded and she glimpsed shy uncertainty in his eyes before his guard went back up.

'It was beautiful.' Jane assured him. She smiled at him. 'I'm glad you kept playing.'

Hawke rubbed his chin. 'It always reminded me of you.'

Jane's heart ached in her chest at his words; at the image of a small boy playing the cello to remember his mother.

'You still play piano?' Hawke shuffled his feet nervously.

Jane tried to dislodge the lump that had sprung up in her throat. 'Sometimes but…'

He raised an eyebrow.

'It always reminded me of you.' She admitted.

Hawke seemed to understand what she didn't say; the pain, the aching loneliness of grief, and she realised he knew too much of it himself.

'Maybe we can play together again.' Hawke suggested awkwardly. 'Now you're back.'

Jane nodded slowly. 'I'd like that.'

Hawke's eyes warmed on hers. He shifted his bow to his other hand and held his free hand out to her. Jane blinked back her tears and took it. A small gesture of trust but it was something. She held on as he led her inside to the warmth of the cabin, his music playing in her head and wrapped around her heart.


	3. Beginning

**Author's Note:** This is a missing scene between Old Friends, New Enemies and Hawke's Wolf. At the end of the former, Caitlin had just returned from Texas after recovering from a near fatal bullet wound after saving Hawke's life in The Truth About Caitin. The latter story, Hawke's Wolf opens with the couple waking up together. This is the bit in between. :-) Mild references to adult situations.

**Beginning**

The scream woke him from a deep sleep and Stringfellow Hawke was off the couch and vaulting up the stairs to the bedroom area before he was aware of his surroundings. Caitlin was kneeling in the middle of the bed with the blankets awry around her. Her face was pale, her eyes blank with shock, a hand was pressed against her shoulder and she was visibly trembling. Tet was on the bed at her side, doing his best in his own doggy way to comfort her.

Hawke halted and approached her slowly as his heartbeat returned to normal. 'Caitlin?'

She raised her eyes to look at him. She attempted a smile. 'I'm sorry I didn't mean to wake you.'

He hovered at the end of the bed. 'Would you like some hot milk?' He asked.

Caitlin nodded. He turned and made his way downstairs. He rubbed his eyes tiredly as he waited for the milk to heat on the stove.

'I really am sorry.'

He looked up and found Caitlin standing barefoot by the breakfast bar.

'Not a problem.' Hawke said as he folded his arms over his naked chest. 'I've had a few nightmares in the past myself.'

Caitlin slid onto a stool. 'I thought I was over the worst of them.' She admitted as she stared down at the bar.

'Have you had many?' Hawke asked gently.

'The milk's boiling.'

Hawke moved to take the pan off the stove and poured it carefully into two mugs stirring them vigorously. He picked them both up and carried them to the coffee table, Caitlin following in his wake.

She sat down on the floor in front of the couch as he added another log to the fire. Tet padded over and pushed himself onto her lap. She stroked his fur coat and let the motion soothe her. Hawke handed her a drink and she noticed with amusement that it was hot chocolate as he sat down beside her. There was silence as he tucked a blanket around them for extra warmth, pushing a disgruntled Tet out of the way. They watched the fire and sipped their drinks.

'I'm running in the nightmare.'

Hawke glanced at her, his heart jerking in surprise before it resumed normal service.

'Always running and I think I'm going to be too late. I can't catch my breath and I fall. And that's when I wake up.' Caitlin said softly. 'Same dream every night since I left the clinic. The doctor thinks my subconscious is trying to tell me what I can't remember.'

'What do you remember?' Hawke asked trying to push another surge of guilt away.

'Not much.' She took a sip of her hot chocolate. 'I remember we were talking by the fire, and the door banged. You told me to stay in the barn while you went to get Byrne. That's it.' She set her mug down. 'Exactly what did happen?'

Hawke winced and looked over at her. He sighed at her expression; under the curiosity was a blatant need to understand and as much as he didn't want to talk about it, maybe it would help her move on from the nightmares. His gaze moved to the fire. 'I figure your early warning scans picked up on the assault team and that Byrne and I had no cover where we were. I think you realised that there was no time to get Airwolf airborne so you took the next option; you ran to warn us.' He gulped some hot chocolate and frowned at the sudden sickly sweet taste. He pushed his mug onto the side table.

'And then?' She gently prompted.

'Someone took a shot just as you reached us and you threw yourself at me. We all hit the ground. I turned around and you weren't moving. You'd knocked your head and then I saw that you'd taken the bullet too. That's it.'

Caitlin saw past his impassive expression and caught the remembered fear. Her hand slid over his and he turned it over to take hold of it, his guarded blue eyes meeting hers.

'I gave you a hell of a scare.' She said.

He nodded. 'When you didn't move I thought…' He looked away from her.

She shifted so her free hand could slide over his rough jaw and turn his face back to her. 'You thought I was dead.'

Hawke slid his hand to stroke over her hair, and under to cup her cheek in his palm. 'You were so still…' The words tumbled out of him…he shook his head as though to shake off the memory.

Caitlin knew nothing she would say would comfort him. She remembered very well another mission when she'd thought he was dead, when he'd lain in her arms unmoving. There was little that could take away the horror or the terror of those moments except maybe...she inched forward and kissed him.

The kiss deepened. It wasn't enough. Hawke forgot everything but the feel of Caitlin, warm and alive. His voice was unsteady when he raised his head and asked if she was sure. She nodded, kissed him again; then there was only the slide of their bodies in the firelight.

It was much later when Hawke scampered to the bed, diving under the covers, his legs immediately tangling with Caitlin's as she slipped back into his arms, her own hugging him close. They held each other in a comfortable silence for a long while until Caitlin shifted a little, easing her shoulder into a better position.

'You OK?' Hawke asked.

She smiled at him and smoothed the worry line that had appeared on his forehead. 'More than OK.'

'You're sure your shoulder is fine?'

She nodded trying to ease the anxiety in his voice and gave in to the question bugging her. 'Is that why you didn't join me before?'

'Before?'

'When I woke up from the nightmare, I seem to recall you were sleeping on the couch.'

Hawke's lips twitched. 'Well, you were asleep when I came in and we hadn't discussed it. I didn't want to assume you'd be fine finding me in bed with you. I figured it might get me punched.' He said dryly, a smile creeping across his lips.

Caitlin smiled again, stroking a hand through his hair. 'Might have gotten you kissed.'

'Kissed, huh?' He was about to follow up on the invitation in her eyes when she unwillingly yawned. He smiled and dropped the kiss chastely on her forehead instead. 'Go to sleep.'

She snuggled into him, giving into the tiredness and drifting back into dreams. Hawke watched her sleep, emotions rippling over him. Disbelief, hope, fear - all bound up in a strange package of joy at this thing they were beginning. She was his. And he couldn't lose her.


	4. The Hawke Brothers

**Author's Note: **This takes place soon after 'And They All Lived.' Hope you like it!

**The Hawke Brothers**

The family have only been reunited for a short time when Sebastian Hawke, youngest of the brood, realises the term 'the Hawke brothers' doesn't include him.

It's a small thing.

It's running into an old Army buddy of his Dad's at Santini Air on a rare occasion where the whole family is gathered. They – meaning him, his Dad and his Mom – are meeting up with Hawke and Caitlin to travel to the couple's cabin in the mountains, Sarah is prepping the chopper ready for departure and Saint John, who owns the Air Service with his girlfriend Jo, is teasing their sister.

Charlie Bunty rolls up to the gathered family with a raucous laugh. He grabs Alan Hawke before words can be exchanged and pats him on his back, exclaims over his resurrection, grins at him and stares at Hawke and Saint John with glee.

'Ah, the infamous Hawke brothers!' Charlie rubs his hands before wagging a finger at Alan. 'Boy, Al, could I tell you some stories about these fellas! They sure do have a reputation.'

Seb recalls the incident when he excuses himself from his brother's table after one too many anecdotes about Hawke and Saint John as kids. He stands on his brother's porch, hands gripping the rail tightly and tries to accept that he's never going to be considered a 'Hawke brother.'

And he's cool with that.

He is.

OK, so it may sting a little. _A lot._

But he's nineteen and headed for university thanks to a scholarship Michael Coldsmith-Briggs has arranged. He's finally going to have the life he's dreamed about after years on the run and being careful; he's going to leave the nest and spread his wings. He doesn't need to be a Hawke brother, Seb thinks, his jaw tensing as he stares out blindly at the dark silvery lake in front of him. He would be _him_; Sebastian Hawke.

And Sebastian Hawke is a cool dude. Maybe he isn't some hero; maybe he can't fly a plane like he was born to it, but he can take apart a computer system in minutes, he can write code in seconds; he rules in the digital world where his brothers fear to tread.

But he can't help but see in his mind's eye the look of pride on his father's face at Charlie's assertion; can't help the tang of jealousy that sours the back of his throat and the churn in his belly at the idea that insidiously whispers through his head that his parents are always going to love them more than him; that he will disappear to university and they won't even notice.

He faintly hears the sound of a door opening behind him and he tenses. He's _so_ not in the mood for company.

'Beautiful night.' Caitlin's Texas twang is carried softly on the night breeze.

Seb shrugs as she takes up position next to him, her forearms resting on the railing. Her short red hair is covered by a scarf; he knows she's still recovering from injuries that almost killed her and his conscience twinges.

'Should you be out here?' Seb worries. 'It's cold.' He's already shrugging out of his jacket and offering it to her.

Caitlin accepts it with a ready smile and even though he's young and skinny himself, the brown leather jacket almost drowns her thin frame. He refuses to contemplate that he bought it because it reminded him of the one Hawke wears sometimes.

'I needed some air.' Caitlin nods into the distance at the shadowy mountains and rippling water; there's pine scent in the air along with dirt and grass. 'It's beautiful, isn't it.'

In truth, Seb's hardly looked at the scenery but he nods obediently.

''Course that's not why you're out here.' Caitlin's voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. 'I do the same when I'm at my folks.'

Seb stares at her in surprise.

'I have an older sister.' Caitlin says. She doesn't explain further; there's no need. There's an understanding look in her eye that tells him everything and simultaneously makes him feel as exposed as a deer caught in headlights. He flushes so hard he can feel his cheeks burn and he's grateful for the dim light and hopes furiously that she can't tell.

'It's stupid.' He admits, turning away sharply.

'Human.' Caitlin contradicts with amusement.

Her light tone helps some of his own discomfort seep away and he risks another glance at her.

'I get that my parents missed them and that they want to make it up to them for leaving them.' Seb says quietly. 'It's just…'

'They're your parents too.' Caitlin nods. 'It's new right now but things will settle.'

Seb isn't convinced. 'It's not just that.' It's the way they all look at Hawke; like he's special; favoured; loved beyond the rest of the siblings. His gut twists with envy. And then there's the whole Hawke brothers thing…

Caitlin pats his arm. 'You should talk with Saint John.' She presses a kiss on his cold cheek before he can respond and she's gone so fast that he wonders if she was there at all. It's the chill on his arms and back from the loss of his jacket that tells him she was.

He's about done moping – he refuses to use the word 'sulk.' And it's cold outside. He follows her into the cabin.

o-O-o

A week later, he's sprawled on the sand outside the back of Sarah's house, ostensibly babysitting his nephew but in reality paying more attention to the book in his hand, when Saint John sits beside him.

Seb stares at him before glancing back at the house and the faint sound of female voices drifting from the open doorway. 'Sarah home?'

'Yeah. Her car's out of action so Jo and I gave her a lift.' Saint John hands him a Coke, still in its bottle, the sides of the glass frosted and cool to the touch. 'She invited us to dinner.'

Seb takes a long swig; he figures he's going to need it. Not that Saint John intimidates him. Much. It's because he looks so much like their Dad, Seb assures himself; the build; the hair; even the eyes although they're a warm hazel rather than a cool blue. His oldest brother has an easy smile and there's little sign of the impassive mask that Hawke wears. Seb _likes_ Saint John.

'You should be watching him more.' Saint John tilts his bottle at Chris. Seb suddenly realises his nephew is at the water's edge with a bucket. The admonishment heats his cheeks.

'I am watching him.' Seb states defiantly, staring at the sand at his feet.

'If it's the same way I used to watch Hawke, you need to do better.' Saint John says dryly and Seb is surprised enough to look at him.

Saint John lifts his Coke bottle and gestures at the book Seb is holding. 'Although usually my distraction was Kelly Haferman rather than,' his eyebrows rise, 'the Complete Anthology of Mathematic Equations.'

Seb pulls a face. He's always been a geek but the teasing tone of his brother takes the sting out of the comparison.

'Actually, I'm glad you're here.' Saint John's fingers are pulling the damp label off the Coke bottle and Seb wonders idly if he's worried. 'I wanted to ask you something.'

Seb shrugs.

Saint John takes it as the invitation it was intended to be and launches into a detailed explanation of some air show that's happening the following weekend. Seb's heart sinks. He's fairly certain he can see where this is headed and steels himself to say yes to the favour of staying behind and looking after Santini Air that he's sure is coming.

'…so I was thinking you might want to come with me.' Saint John finishes.

Seb stares at him.

'Seb?' Saint John laughs nervously.

'Sure.' Seb can't accept fast enough; attending an air show with Saint John? Like he needs to think about that for more than a minute.

'Great.' Saint John smiles widely. 'String'll be stoked.'

'Hawke?' Seb manages not to choke on the Coke he's just gulped but he fears his voice comes out more like a squeak regardless especially when Saint John shoots him a strange look. Maybe it's because Seb's calling their brother by their surname – and he doesn't want to think about the reasons for that too closely – but Seb knows deep down it's because of something else.

'Uh,' Saint John looks faintly uncomfortable, 'I did mention he was coming too, didn't I?'

Seb shakes his head; he would have remembered _that_.

'Oh.' Saint John shrugs. 'Well, I just think it's a good way for the three of us to spend time with each other, get to know each other better.'

Seb frowns. He has a horrible feeling that Saint John hasn't mentioned it to the brother they share.

'Look, if this is something you two usually do together maybe I shouldn't be along.' Seb offers tightly.

Saint John doesn't look at him. 'It isn't easy.'

'What?' Seb asks confused.

'Being his brother.' Saint John says bluntly. His gaze catches Seb's. 'But he's worth it.'

Seb sees more than sincerity; he sees regret in his brother's eyes and wonders at it.

'Took me a while to figure that out.' Saint John explains. He drops his gaze and Seb gets that Saint John has confided something in him.

Something.

Seb's not sure what. He hides his unease by taking another gulp of his drink.

'When he gets to know you and you get to know him…' Saint John waves out at the ocean. 'You'll see.'

Seb represses the sigh. He's not sure Hawke's going to see it the same way but he nods.

Saint John grins and toasts him with the Coke. Seb tries to smile and pretends he's not regretting his decision already.

o-O-o

It was a bad idea.

It's the only thought Seb's had all day. Hawke has been his usual stand-offish, taciturn self. He's barely said two words on the flight there. Seb half-suspects Saint John didn't tell Hawke Seb was coming along with them.

If the flight was awkward though, it's nothing to what's happening on the ground as they arrive.

Seb watches his brothers with an annoyed grimace. There's a batch of pilots around them; back-patting and manly hugs going around. He mistakes Hawke's look of pained tolerance for basking in adoration. He's never felt more like he isn't one of them. He's never felt more alone. He slinks away from the crowd deciding they won't miss him.

He finds the bar at the outskirts of the air field where the show is being held. It's dark, the floor is sticky and the music is more country than he likes but there's a pool table and beer. Seb whips out fake id, pays for a tankard and heads for the table.

He's beaten three cowboys and the pretty brunette waitress is shooting him smiles that have Seb's blood heating to a nice simmer when the fourth cowboy gets shirty about a shot. Seb might make a disparaging comment about the guy's shirt, his boots, his manhood.

In between the meaty finger poking him in the chest and the stale cigar breath, the accusations of hustling – which OK maybe he deserves – something snaps and Seb hauls off and punches the guy.

The bar turns ugly real fast.

Seb finds himself facing off against twelve cowboys. His heart is beating. He's breathing heavy and the fact that he's in way, _way_, over his head is beginning to sink in through the alcoholic fog of the beer he's imbibed.

There's a sound behind him but Seb's too freaked out by the guys lined up in front of him to pay attention. An instant later and he's flanked either side by his brothers. He doesn't know who's more surprised to see them; him or the guys he's facing off against.

'This ain't your fight.' Meaty Finger Cowboy grunts. Seb isn't liking the way he's holding the pool cue and there's a mean look in his eye.

Saint John shrugs. 'He's our brother.'

Hawke cocks his head to the side and shoots Meaty Finger what Seb tags _the look_. The one that says you've messed with the wrong guy or more simply; run.

'Your funeral.' Meaty Finger spits out his chew and that's the signal.

Seb's not sure what happens next; he's too busy dodging punches and chairs and geez, pool cues, to notice. He's sent flying over the bar and ends up with the pretty brunette waitress. He smiles awkwardly before he jumps back over and reenters the fray; doesn't seem right leaving his brothers to clean up his mess.

A few minutes later and the Hawke brothers are the only ones standing. It takes Seb aback to realise that he's just thought about himself as one of them…he doesn't get time to dwell, the cops arrive and half an hour later they're cooling their heels in a jail cell.

Seb wonders whether he should worry as Saint John and Hawke simply debate who to call – Michael being the winner – before, call made, they head to the bunks and without words, Saint John takes the bottom while Hawke takes the top. Hawke notices Seb's hesitation and motions at him to take the single cot across the cell.

'You should get some rest.' Hawke states firmly. He's already lying on his back, hands clasped behind his head, feet crossed at the ankle.

Seb sinks onto the thin mattress and stares at his brothers. They seem far too relaxed about the whole thing. He was expecting a lecture about being in the bar, about getting them into trouble but nothing. He's not sure if he's grateful, relieved or peeved.

He touches his tender jaw, his bruised lip and the swelling puffing up under his left eye suggests he's going to have a shiner. He wonders that Hawke and Saint John have come out of the brawl with nothing worse than bruised knuckles. He should really get them to teach him how to do that. He also wonders that they're not fussing over him. In a strange way their acceptance that he can handle his wounds makes him feel like a man. He lies down and tries to pretend the nonchalance that his brothers seem to exude.

It's two hours – and Seb knows the time exactly because he's been watching the clock on the other side of the bars like it's Christmas Eve and he's five – before Michael turns up.

The spy is in his usual working garb of white three-piece suit with matching crisp white shirt, white silk tie and shiny white leather shoes. The rosewood cane and black eye-patch detract from the sartorial elegance. Seb knows Michael is pissed because Michael's one good eye is glinting at them.

Hawke wrestles with the mattress a little before he jumps down and saunters over to the bars.

'Hawke.' Michael's tone is less than amused.

'Michael.' Hawke leans through the bars and nods at his best friend. And they are best friends. Seb can see that in the way Michael's expression has already defrosted and how his lips twitch even if the other man tries to hide it by rubbing his moustache with a single finger.

'You're here less than a day.' Michael begins.

'If I'd wanted a lecture I'd have called Cait.' Hawke interrupts brusquely.

Michael simply grins evilly.

Hawke straightens. 'You told her?'

'She was in my office when the call came.' Michael shrugs.

Hawke exchanges a look with Saint John that Seb can interrupt only too well; they're in trouble.

Michael seems to take pity on them because he nods at the guard and a moment later they're free.

Hawke takes a moment to thank Michael awkwardly before they part company; Michael heads to the stretch white limo outside the police station and the Hawkes to the airfield where they climb back into the chopper to make their way home; a condition of their being released.

The journey back is as silent as the one there but the silence is not awkward and Seb is sleepy from the adrenaline rush and the beer, he's not sure which. He's jolted awake by Saint John's faintly uttered 'uh-oh.'

Uh-oh?

Seb sits up and peers through the front of the chopper. Three women await, arms folded over their chests and looks that send Seb scurrying backwards. Not good. The Hawke women in full warrior mode is a frightening thing. He can see his father, Mike Rivers and Jo all waiting by the hangar entrance at a safe distance.

Hawke sets the chopper down with a gentleness that Seb envies before he just sits there. They all sit there.

'Are we getting out?' Seb asks worriedly.

Saint John rubs the back of his neck, straightens his shoulders and he gets out. A heartbeat later, Hawke follows and Seb is suddenly scrabbling to keep up.

Caitlin's rake over Hawke before she evidently determines he's OK and breathes out. Seb endures a similar look from his sister and mother.

There's a sharp maternal intake of breath as Jane Hawke gets a good look at his injuries. Her eyes dart to Saint John's. 'Saint John Hawke.'

The command to explain – and it had better be good – is imbedded in the name. Seb winces. He's heard that tone before and the last time he ended up grounded for a week. Saint John pales and it's as though he morphs from the adult male he is to the young boy he was. He shuffles.

Seb watches fascinated as Saint John sends their brother a clear signal for help.

Hawke remains composed in the face of his mother's wrath. 'It was my fault.'

Seb's head whips to Hawke.

Hawke shrugs. 'They were picking on Seb.'

Seb is touched but he really can't let Hawke take the blame. He clears his throat. 'Actually it was my fault.'

'It doesn't matter.' His mother says firmly. 'String and Saint John are older, they should know better.'

Saint John's face takes on a pained expression. He looks at Seb and at Hawke.

'We're sorry.' They all say quickly.

His mother's expression softens. 'Fighting is not an answer.'

'No, ma'am.' Hawke agrees.

'And what kind of example is that for Chris?' Sarah adds.

Caitlin snorts and hastily turns it into a cough. Seb realises up close that now she's seen they're OK, she's not so much annoyed as amused.

'We're sorry?' Seb says again, hopefully.

Jane's eyes narrow on him but she nods finally. She turns and heads back to the hangar without another word. Sarah falls into step beside her.

Caitlin grins. She and Hawke look at each other and she leaves the brothers alone.

'We're older so we should know better?' Hawke repeats with disgust.

Saint John slaps his shoulder fondly. 'Welcome to my world.'

Seb sighs guiltily. 'Uh, thanks. For,' he waves at their family, 'and for back at the bar.'

Hawke shrugs.

'I, er,' Seb feels compelled to come completely clean, 'I should probably tell you it was really my fault. Back there. I started the fight.'

Saint John and Hawke exchange an amused look.

'Yeah, we kinda figured that when you hauled off and hit the guy.' Hawke said. His blue eyes are filled with pride. 'Nice hook, by the way.'

Seb's mouth falls open as he realises they must have followed him to the bar and been watching him for a while. 'You…' he stutters as Saint John grins at him, 'you knew?'

'We saw everything.' Saint John confirms, nodding. 'Cute waitress.'

'But you…' Seb looks at them confused. 'You stood up for me.'

Saint John and Hawke are looking at him as though he's an idiot and Seb is beginning to feel like one.

'We're brothers.' Hawke says as though it was obvious before he and Saint John turn and walk away to the hangar.

The blunt truth of it slams into Seb like a sucker-punch. And suddenly, Seb feels like maybe, just maybe, he's a Hawke brother after all.


End file.
